


Little Accidents

by basilbleu



Series: It Burns [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Apologies, First Meetings, Gen, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Kid Keith (Voltron), Kid Lance (Voltron), Like boi, Magic, Magic-Users, Necromancer Keith (Voltron), Oblivious Lance (Voltron), Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Scared Keith (Voltron), Water Witch Lance, Witch Keith (Voltron), Witch Lance (Voltron), Witches, blissfully unaware au, but like he doesnt rlly realize that he is, fire witch keith, i didnt know which last name to use for lance's fam so excuse me, like they dont realize they'd be friends later, might not even remember each other who knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basilbleu/pseuds/basilbleu
Summary: “Hey, I’m Lance,” he introduced after clearing his throat.The boy with the raven hair glanced down from his perch on the high windowsill, giving him an unimpressed brow before returning his gaze to the cityscape. Lance pouted at his quick dismissal of him, puffing out his chest, determined to win the bet.“My brothers and sisters and I are going to play a game. Do you want to play?” he questioned, but the boy didn’t even acknowledge that he had spoken. His behavior poked at Lance in the wrong way.------During a short vacation to a witch coven, ten year old Lance and his older siblings become intrigued by a boy who's always alone. He's quiet and withdrawn, an antithesis to Lance's loud and proud personality. Their first meeting turned sour quicker than Lance had ever anticipated. Now he with guilt staining his conscious, Lance wants to make amends.





	1. First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is part of my It Burns AU series, which is inspired by my personal writing. it can be read apart from the series but some reactions and world building might make more sense if you've read the other stories
> 
> also for those that have read the series, this takes place shortly after keith decides to stay at the leo coven; before the closet scene with shiro
> 
> other than that i hope you enjoy!

Lance panted as he sprinted down the cobblestone path. He wove through opened patios and ducked under wagons, anything to give himself an extra step, an extra breath between himself and those following him. Running by multistoried buildings and bright, decorative signs, the boy chanced a glance over his shoulder, spotting his three pursuers only a few breaths away. His legs burned with exertion and his heart skipped beats with the chase as they dodged pedestrians with more difficulty than him. He smirked at his size advantage. 

He twisted down a narrow alley that opened to a river winding through the town, never slowing as he ran along its banks toward a stone bridge. If he could get across into an unfamiliar neighborhood, he had a slight chance of escaping, at least a better one than if he stayed put. He pushed himself harder, desperately reaching the bridge, until he stopped. 

The fourth pursuer awaited him on the opposite bank, his crossed arms matching his smug smirk. Lance stumbled back, quickly turning, but the other two blocked his exit, heavily breathing but ready for a fight. 

“Haha, okay guys, let’s not be too hasty,” Lance squeaked, taking a step back. 

“Nice try, Lance,” one said cooly, “but you’re not getting out of this one.”

They closed in, cornering him against the bridge railing. The stone dug painfully into his back. He glanced at the crystal water flowing below him, an idea forming. 

He huffed in faux disappointment. “Heh, yeah, I guess you guys caught me.” He side eyed them all. “Or not!” he exclaimed, vaulting over the railing and to the waters below. 

“Lance!” the girls screamed, rushing to the railing. 

“Don’t worry, Rachel, Veronica. I got him. He’s not winning this time,” one of the boys said at her side. His hands worked themselves into smooth motions, creating waves in the air; his fingers danced together as slowly water was drawn up from the river, a yelling boy along with it. 

“Marco! Put me down!” he screamed, his high tone piercing the otherwise quiet town. Lance’s hands moved in frantic motions. Some of the water that carried him splashed against Marco’s, but his brother’s control never wavered. 

“Whatever you say, hermano,” he smirked. 

His motions stopped and suddenly Lance was falling hard, his control of the water propelling him toward the hard stone. 

“Marco!” the oldest boy scolded. With a quick flick of his wrist, the water stopped its descent, as well as Lance’s, cushioning the fall. With soaked clothing, Lance landed in a puddle with an ungrateful huff, wiping at his wet face. 

“C’mon, Luis.” Marco rolled his eyes. “I was just having fun. He wouldn’t have gotten  _ that  _  hurt.” 

“You know mama said to watch after him. We can’t bring him back with bruises. Remember what happened the last time we did that?” 

Both boys shivered at the memory. 

“Fine, fine. I get your point,” he conceded. “But now, all that really matters is that we have finally ended Lance’s winning streak in Werewolves and Jackalopes! You, sir, were finally eaten.” He threw his finger out, pointing it at Lance who was extracting the water from his clothing. 

“Hey! You may have beaten me today, but I’m still winning overall,” he defended. “So good luck beating me while you’re waterlogged.”

“Waterlogged?” Marco questioned. Lance smirked before pointing a finger up. Marco’s eyes widened as he saw the bubble of water hanging precariously over his head, held up only by Lance’s magickal will instead of his hands, which now lay prone at the boy’s sides. Droplets dribbled from the bubble, pronouncing the instability of the conglomeration. Marco glared at Lance. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Lance simply raised his thin eyebrows and shrugged before releasing his control. 

The entire town heard Marco’s enraged scream.

 

* * *

The Espinosa name came from an extremely long line of hydro-elemental witches. They used their connection to the water for various purposes, many in their family line becoming mer ambassadors, revered seers, even celebrated alchemists. Lance and his siblings would hang off of their mama’s every word as if they were the sweetest of honeys as she wove tales of their second great cousin’s trials in defeating roiling epidemics, the solidification of saltwater and freshwater mer relations thanks to their eleventh great aunt, and the secret love affair between their fifth great grandma and a silent siren that strengthened their family’s affinity for the rolling waves. Her stories sparked intrigue in all of her children. They greedily extracted more knowledge from their mama, interrogating her about magickal inclinations of witches, their ancestry, and societies outside of their seaside village in the Mer Pocket.

Hence why when the Espinosa parents announced that they would be traveling to the Witch Pocket for the week, their children had ecstatically agreed, howling under the full moon in excitement. Though Lance’s siblings wrought happy disturbances through the rest of their village, the announcement had left him a little dejected. 

At this time of year, they usually visited the Garrett clan in the Shifter Pocket. His parents were quick to reassure him that their trip wouldn’t replace their annual visit and that waiting a few more weeks to see Hunk would only make hugging him feel that much better. He nodded in agreement. 

He had always wanted to explore the pockets like his third great uncle had done. A smile slowly cracked across his face at the idea. He quickly joined his siblings in celebration. 

They would stay at the Leo Coven. Lance’s parents explained how this witch coven was known for their open doors and various rooms available for travelers. There would be different cultures and norms that they would have to be prepared to not gawk at, but their mama assured them that most people would be open to their questions if they asked politely. 

Lance hadn’t known what to expect, but a few days into their trip and he was even more curious about  _ everything _ than when they had arrived. 

His siblings and him had toured around the town the coven sat in, discovering wishing wells, an old woman with free sweets, and markets filled to the brim with things Lance had never even heard about. Their short travels from the coven soon turned into games. Each one starting in a new room in the coven building and ending further from the center of town each day.

Lance strolled into the designated room for today. Its size and adornments didn’t boast wealth, much like the rest of the coven building. The coven witches had no need for such frivolous presentations of wealth, their belief in providing for others overshadowing their comfortability for themselves. Though Lance would like to agree with their beliefs, even in his humble village he enjoyed the pleasures of trivial materials and activities and would not forfeit his pleasurable possessions if it could be helped. In fact, he thought the lackluster coven building needed aid with regards to its appearance, case in point the room in which he agreed to meet his older siblings.

The room’s dull stone floor sunk into the ground, creating a drab appearance that sucked the monochrome colors from the pale walls. That yellowing ivory peeled in corners and near the two large windows framed on one wall. The sun’s rays filtered through the dirty glass, creating a soft gridded pattern that fell on the small fountain, which sluggishly pulsed with water in the center of the room where his siblings sat, giggling amongst one another. 

Lance approached them. Ten years old and without sprouting, he stood with a height below that of his sitting siblings. The observation soured his mood. But he held onto the hope that soon he’d grow to be taller than them all. 

That nagging thought quickly vanished as he studied his siblings’ postures: hunched about with quick whispers and sparing glances. The ends of his lips curled into a knowing smirk, his eyes tightening with amusement. 

Gossip. They were gossiping. Too engrossed to notice his presence, an act that would normally cause him to wreak havoc; however, he had always been one for rumors and stories. Why they all had been brought up with tales from their mama and how could stories of others be so different?

Lance knelt below his siblings, exaggerating his small height. He rested his elbows on Veronica’s knees and tilted his head into the glow of the sun, his ocean blue eyes glistening and his soft features melting into honey. His pink lips slightly chapped and his cowlick curled up. A picture of innocence. 

“Hey, Ronnie,” he softly said, eyebrows slightly upturned. “What ya talking about?”

She smiled, her pale blue eyes deepening at the sight of him. 

“Oh, nothing important,” she replied, though her tone wavered, clearly fighting against his act. 

“Awww, c’mon, Ronnie,” he pleaded, upturning his voice; not quite a whine, but a reminder of his youth. “You know I hate being left out of things. Please?” She ran a hand through his hair, attempting to straighten his curls, while biting her bottom lip. Rachel popped up from next to Veronica, her long dark hair cascading down her shoulders. 

“We are talking about the loner boy in the window,” she whispered, earning a disgruntled groan from Marco. 

“Hey, don’t tell him!” Marco said, glaring at his sister. 

Lance leaned back, peering at the two windows. He hadn’t noticed when he first walked in, but there was a dark form huddled in the corner of one, blocking out the sun. He narrowed his eyes, but Lance couldn’t necessarily see a boy, just a blob with no distinguishing features. 

“Are you sure--” he began, doubt heavy on his tongue.

“Yeah, he’s up there and I’ve seen him around,” Rachel interrupted. “Though I haven’t seen him interact with anyone. He’s just always alone.” She shrugged, not thinking much into the situation.

“No,” Veronica protested. “He was talking with a Watcher yesterday… Or rather the Watcher was talking to him,” she explained sheepishly. “Maybe he doesn’t like to talk. Or can’t talk.”

“But then why would a Watcher want to talk to him?” Luis said. “Maybe he’s a criminal.”

Marco hit him upside the head. Luis clutched it, complaining as Marco said, “No way. If he were a criminal, he wouldn’t be here. He’d be in prison with magick suppressors.”  

The comment sent chills down the siblings’ spines. Magick suppressors were nothing to joke about. The technology had been carefully guarded for centuries; only Watchers had the spellwork to implement those specialized devices. They severed the connection between a witch and their magick with mixed results: the lucky ones experienced no side effects, aside from an emptiness that sat in their gut, while others had died, not without agonizing minutes of torturous pain. Lance couldn’t comprehend losing his magick. It was too foreign, too abstract. And it was nothing to worry about.

“Maybe he’s shy,” Lance offered. “Like he has anxiety speaking to people so he chooses not to.”

Marco released a deep broken laugh, one obviously forced, before turning his unimpressed gaze to his youngest brother. “That’s the stupidest explanation I’ve heard.”

“No, it’s not!” Lance denied. “Sometimes Hunk can’t speak up for himself when he’s nervous. Maybe this boy has the same thing, but worse. Like he panics before even speaking. I would stay away from people if I had that.” The girls lightly laughed. Lance turned his pout to them. “Hey, it’s not funny!”

“Sorry, Lance,” Veronica apologized, tapping Rachel’s leg to quit it. “We weren’t laughing at your idea. We were laughing at the image of you wanting to be alone. It’s just so different from who you are, all words and no fear.” Lance grumbled a little at her explanation, but it was better than them laughing at his guess. 

“If you believe in your hypothesis so much, why don’t you go test it?” goaded Marco. Veronica, Rachel, and Luis began protesting before Marco quieted them down. “You’re the most talkative one here. If you can get the boy to play Witch Hunt with us, then you lose. But if he doesn’t respond or panics, then you win.”

Luis smacked the back of Marco’s head, returning the favor. “That’s a stupid bet. If Lance only wanted to win, then he would approach the boy and then lie and tell us he panicked and couldn’t speak.”

“Luis is right,” Rachel spoke up. “Why don’t we play Capture the Dragon Egg instead? If he can convince him to play, then we can have even teams  _ and _ we can ask the boy ourselves why he’s always alone.”

“Sounds like a trap for an interrogation,” Veronica mumbled, while Marco shouted, “You just want to play Capture the Dragon Egg!”

“Shut up!” Luis hissed. “Look either way, we can learn something about him. If he plays with us, it’s because everyone else avoids him and he doesn’t have many friends here, but if he doesn’t want to, then he decided to avoid everyone else.”

“What if he doesn’t like the game?” Veronica asked.

“Well, then… maybe we just don’t mention which game,” Luis replied. “Or I guess, Lance won’t mention it.” Everyone turned to the kneeling boy. 

“Soooo, what am I doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Veronica spoke up. “Just go ask the boy if he wants to play a game with us. If you convince him to play, we’ll get you that scrying bowl you’ve been eyeing at the market,” she said, all high pitched and wavering. A tease. 

“Hey, I didn’t agree to--ouch!” Marco yelled, glaring at a stone faced Luis. 

Veronica rolled her eyes but continued. “But if you can’t get him to play, then you have to do all our laundry for a week.” 

Lance grimaced at the idea. Hand washing his own clothes already took too much time out of his daily fun, let alone four other baskets of larger clothing. But he really wanted the scrying bowl. Before their vacation, he had been reading about seers, witches with divination abilities and the like. Scrying bowls were versatile tools, usually used to communicate between witches; however, seers could use them to see places and people presently or in the future. They could also be used in hydromancy, the practice of using water in divination, something Lance thought he might have a knack for like his third second cousin did. 

Laundry or scrying bowl. His idea concerning the loneliness of the boy was simply a guess. He never liked being proven wrong, but he could put his pride aside if it meant he’d be returning home with an obsidian scrying bowl rimmed with the dark navy of lapis lazuli. 

“If he plays, I get the bowl?”

Veronic nodded with a smirk. 

“Then get ready to pay up,” he quipped before gracefully standing, smoothing down his clothing. His siblings watched as he walked toward the window, sun blinding his sight the first few steps until he entered the wall’s shadow. Finally, he could define the boy lazing against the window frame, his head lolling against it. Similar to the rest of the room, his coloring dulled in the sun, blacks brightening and skin paling, all but his red tunic blending with the scenery. His clothing swamped him, clearly too big, pooling around his waist and elbows, the pants tucked into boots. He faced out the window, his dark hair tangling around his shoulders. Lance thought it looked ugly and uneven, something his mama would berate him for decorating his head with. 

He shook the thought from his head, replacing it with the image of the scrying bowl. He wasn’t approaching the boy to judge his fashion choices, but to win a bet. 

Lance stopped short of the wall, craning his neck to see the boy. The windowsill sat rather high on the wall, taller than any of his siblings, but he refused to think of the height of the boy in comparison. He looked small from a distance and Lance held hope that he wouldn’t be the smallest one in the game. 

“Hey, I’m Lance,” he introduced after clearing his throat. 

The boy with the raven hair glanced down from his perch on the high windowsill, giving him an unimpressed brow before returning his gaze to the cityscape. Lance pouted at his quick dismissal of him, puffing out his chest, determined to win the bet. 

“My brothers and sisters and I are going to play a game. Do you want to play?” he questioned, but the boy didn’t even acknowledge that he had spoken. His behavior poked at Lance in the wrong way. Not receiving a reaction twinged something inside him that craved attention, demanding that he’d be seen. 

He looked below the windowsill, wondering how to get up to the boy. Maybe he had to get in his face to prove he was worthy, like a demon courting. But there was no feasible way up, unless… Lance looked to the fountain. 

An unsteady stream of water rose from its center, stuttering unnaturally much to his siblings’ ill-humored delight. Lance’s lips pulled down in concentration, willing his hand movements to be smoother, more precise. Drops of water splattered on the stone floor. 

The water gathered around his feet, circling and caressing the soles. Ripples pulsed around his ankles until Lance closed his fist, concentrating the bubble. With a grunt, he shot his hands up, perhaps a little roughly. The water dutifully obeyed, flinging upward, nearly unbalancing Lance when his body jolted with it. He shrieked as his chest hit the windowsill, scrambling for purchase as his concentration broke and the water fell away to puddles--most of the water that is.  

The boy next to him sputtered as the stray water soaked him. His eyes ignited with anger, their violet hue flickering in fury as they darted to Lance’s, the water droplets spraying from his clothing with the movement. Sparks flickered between the boy’s knuckles, which he clenched white.

Lance gulped.

The boy’s arms erupted in flames, the intensity of them causing Lance to gasp and release his hold on the windowsill. His feet hit the stone first, sending needles from his ankles to his hips, as he continued to tumble backwards, landing hard on his back. The heat still lingered on his skin even as the cool air of the room invaded his lungs when he gasped for breath, choking.

Through bleary eyes, Lance saw the boy jump from the windowsill, landing partial in a crouch before rolling and quickly bouncing on his feet, clearly unharmed as he towered over him. The fire encompassing his arms spread to his chest to his feet to his head; his body dried in an instant. Lance laid at his feet, vulnerable and shocked, his glassy eyes reflecting the rippling flames that engulfed the boy. 

Fear yet utter awe traveled through Lance’s veins, quickening his heart and stealing his breath. 

“Get away from him!” someone shouted. The boy stepped back as Marco and Luis ran in front of Lance’s prone body, water lashing from their arms in challenge. The boy snarled with their appearance, acting more like a feral animal than a kid. Veronica and Rachel came from behind, sitting Lance up, though he refused their help to stand. The boy narrowed his eyes at the five siblings, sizing them up; shock ran through Lance as he watched him consider if he could take them all on, instead of immediately retreating at a quick count of his opponents. 

The boy shook off some flames, extinguishing everything but those licking at his hands. He took a step back, deciding that the small clan of hydro-elementals would overpower him or, Lance thought, that they weren’t worth the fight. His violet eyes glinted as he turned away from them, his fire flickering at his back as a precaution, and walked toward the hallway leading out of the room, leaving without a word. 

“Heh, what a hot head, right?” Lance faintly chuckled, unanimously drawing groans from his siblings.


	2. The Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confusion coated his face, his eyes twitching as he tried to comprehend everything Lance had thrown at him in an extremely short amount of time. 
> 
> “You’re… apologizing?” the boy mumbled, voice raspy like he was sick. 
> 
> “Well, duh. Did you miss me doing that? Cause I could do it again,” he said, taking a deep breath, winding up for Apology Part II, but the boy shook his head and waved his arms out.
> 
> “No! No, it’s fine! I got it,” he said. “I… uh, thanks?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rlly enjoyed writing this chapter! kid lance is an awesome character to write and i rlly hope i did him justice  
> pls enjoy!

All five of the Espinosa siblings were lounging in one of the more populated coven rooms, the storm outside making it near impossible to go explore the town. They sat in boredom, having already run through most of their indoor games earlier; each of them had a buzzing beneath their skin, an energy that they hadn’t gotten rid of yet. Lance hoped that the boy wouldn’t become the center of their next game. 

Lance’s siblings couldn’t stop obsessing over him. 

He couldn’t either, but at least he was nice about it.  
Sure, the boy had almost incinerated him in a moment of terrifying fury that sent his heart pumping in more ways than one. But he didn’t deserve the scalding glares from his siblings. 

Though Lance loathed to admit it, he knew that the whole incident was his fault and watching his siblings blame the boy for it grated on him. Every snear, every offhand comment about the fiery loner caused him to clench his fists a little tighter, hold his head a little higher, chin jutting out challengingly, though his siblings didn’t seem to notice. Their bitterness toward the boy only grew, not a hatred--that Lance couldn’t stand for--but a simmering dislike.

“Looks like Sparky is done with his interrogation,” Marco teased.

Lance narrowed his eyes, biting his tongue. He followed his siblings’ gazes, looking toward the hallway where the young Watcher finished saying his farewell to the silent raven-haired boy--the first sighting of the day. 

“Wonder if his hot temper will end with suppression cuffs?” Rachel pondered, her voice devoid of emotion, despite the seriousness of her accusation. With crossed arms, the boy stared as the Watcher walked away, appearing small and vulnerable. He hung his head and walked to the empty corner of the room, casting Lance’s heart off in a sea of sadness as he watched. “I heard a lot of pyros end up with arson convictions.”

“I’m not surprised,” Luis said. 

The boy sat on a plush chair, pulling his legs to his chest. Lance had to divert his gaze, pursing his lips. 

“Shut up!” Lance shouted, rounding on his siblings with shaking fists. “Just stop it!” 

His siblings’ eyes widened at his outburst. Lance huffed and turned around, stomping away, hearing a murmured, “What’s up with him?”

He shook off the comment, setting his sights on the boy whose eyes had widened at his sudden spurt of anger. The rest of the room’s occupants faded away as he approached him, quieting his steps until they were soft patters on the wooden floor. The boy stood, his hands fisted with sparks dancing across his knuckles. Lance stared at them in awe, despite the obvious sneer present on the boy’s face.

“That’s really cool,” he said, catching the boy off guard. He blinked a couple of times and then glanced to his sparks, as if not realizing they were there. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion at Lance, he shook his hands, the bright sparks disbursing, flying through the air until they fizzled out like glowing ashes from a campfire. 

Lance bit his bottom lip as he hung his head, eyes tracking his fidgeting foot. He knew he had to apologize, but his pride tumbled around in his mind, taking a beating for simply thinking of a way to sincerely say sorry. He could feel his siblings’ gazes burning the back of his neck, heating it. The blush ran up his neck to his freckled cheeks, pronouncing the sun’s kisses further. 

“I…” he began. His head whipped up, remembering the manners his mama taught him. The boy hadn’t moved, though he looked less ready for a fight; no longer on his toes and adopting a more relaxed posture despite his coiled muscles beneath his pale skin. Healing yellows and violent purples decorated his crossed arms and disappeared into his bunched gray sleeves. 

Lance frowned. 

His pride could take a hit. 

“I’m really sorry for splashing you with water,” he said. “I really didn’t mean to! You just weren’t paying attention to me and I needed you to play with us so I thought that maybe if I proved myself then you would come down but then when I tried to get to the window my magick gave an extra push and the water went everywhere and I really didn’t mean to try to hit you but then you got mad and I couldn’t say sorry fast enough! And now I’m blabbing! Stars, this is embarrassing but I’m  _ so  _ sorry!” 

Lance took in a large gulp of air, panting by the end of his rant. The boy’s eyebrows had risen incrementally throughout the entire thing, disappearing behind his bangs. Confusion coated his face, his eyes twitching as he tried to comprehend everything Lance had thrown at him in an extremely short amount of time. 

“You’re… apologizing?” the boy mumbled, voice raspy like he was sick. 

“Well,  _ duh. _ Did you miss me doing that? Cause I could do it again,” he said, taking a deep breath, winding up for Apology Part II, but the boy shook his head and waved his arms out.

“No! No, it’s fine! I got it,” he said. “I… uh, thanks?”

“You don’t thank someone for an apology,” Lance snootily said, turning up his nose like an adult and puffing out his chest. “It was the right thing to do. And now I’m bigger than my older siblings. They’re mean and don’t like you too much.”

Lance winced at his own honest, deflating. The boy quickly glanced over Lance’s shoulder, scanning over his siblings before looking to the side and mumbling, “Yeah, not a lot of people like me.”

Lance waved a dismissive hand behind him, then softened his voice. “Don’t worry about them. ‘Cause now we’re friends!”

“What?” the boy gasped, taking a cautious step back. 

“Well, yeah, aren’t we?” he prodded hopefully, taking a step forward and recovering the distance the boy put between them. He wrung his hands. 

Since Lance had laid eyes on him, an intrigue had grown, sprouting from the wonderment of gazing up into his flames that fateful day. The initial fear of his fire had snapped into awe in an instant: the tantalizing glow of its curling flames entrancing him. He thought the hypnotism of his papa’s moving water outmatched any other elemental ability, but the rolling fire dancing along the boy’s pale skin drowned him in allurement, stealing his breath… or would have if he hadn’t been gasping for it from the fall. 

Beforehand, Lance hadn’t noticed the boy wandering the coven. That drastically changed with their encounter. The corner of rooms, the shadows of halls, the ledges of walls; all occupied him: a lone boy with fierce eyes and downturned lips. Lance couldn’t stop himself from noticing him, first with feelings of guilt, but then with intrigue. From safe distances, he couldn’t figure out much about the boy other than no one approached him and he returned the favor. 

“You’re always alone,” Lance pointed out, “and I think you need a friend, so I can be yours.” That comment snapped the boy from his initial shock. 

“I don’t have friends,” the boy sneered, as if the very idea of a friend disgusted him. 

Lance gave him a funny look. 

“That’s what I’m trying to fix. Everyone needs a friend.”

“Not me,” he said before striding off, shoulder checking Lance as he marched toward the hallway. Lance scrambled after him, determined to get to the bottom of this boy’s attitude while ignoring his siblings ill-concealed giggles.

“Wait!” he shouted. His feet stumbled over themselves in his haste. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t concern you,” the boy said over his shoulder. He ducked into the hallway, Lance close behind him. 

Boldly Lance grabbed his swinging wrist, tugging the boy back. With flaming arms he rounded on the hydro witch, nostrils flaring in anger, but Lance simply crossed his arms and raised a brow.

“Not that your fire isn’t extremely impressive and threatening. You aren’t going to hurt me,” he said a matter of factly. The flames flickered, licking further up the boy’s arms, intensifying with his heated glare. 

“You know nothing about me or what I can do.”

“Oh, I know what you can do, but what you  _ will _ do is completely different,” he said with conviction. “You could’ve hurt me when I was down that day and I saw you sizing up my siblings. You could’ve taken them, couldn’t you? But you didn’t.”

“So? I didn’t want to waste my time with you.”

“That’s not true,” Lance emphasized.

“I could hurt you if I wanted to,” the boy growled and Lance almost winced at its raspiness, like gravel crunching underfoot. His voice sounded wrong, almost unused. 

“But you don’t want to,” Lance countered. A knowing smile curled his lips. “And even if you did, you have that Watcher coming to check on you.”

The boy narrowed his eyes.

“What do you know about that?”

“More than you think,” Lance pompously jeered. 

Did he feel bad about lying? Oh, most definitely. He actually knew nothing about the boy’s relationship with the young Watcher who came to visit often, but he didn’t need to know anything to set the boy on edge. He began to understand that he enjoyed drawing reactions from the boy; his blank lonesome expression he wore daily around the coven were nothing compared to this teetering emotional firecracker, one comment away from tipping into an unknown spiral of explosive repercussions. 

And having those intriguing violet eyes focused solely on him also tickled his ego. 

He preened under the defensive glare, allowing a sly smirk to slide into place; a strange look for a ten year old, one that would usually receive odd glances from passersby if it weren’t for his lackadaisical posture, pulling his expression into one of blissful relaxation. Only the boy could see Lance’s mischievous blue eyes. 

“I’m a seer,” Lance singsonged, which wasn’t exactly another lie, more of a half-truth. Sometimes certain ripples in the water gave him odd feelings and there was this one dream he had that sorta came true… The point was that the statement had no meaningful consequence, only one aimed to off center the boy. 

And it worked. Maybe too well.

His flames unnaturally flickered as the boy’s face paled (more so than his naturally pallor tone). He took a shaky step back before clenching his jaw and determinately moving forward. At the boy’s approach, Lance felt his bravo drain from him. He gulped, tripping backwards to avoid the pyro. His back hit the hallway wall as the boy crowded him against it, the heat of his flames already making Lance sweat. Hot air blew from the boy’s flaring nostrils and steam hit Lance’s face. He trembled. 

“Tell me what you know about me,” the boy demanded. Lance unsteadily shook his head. Clearly telling the boy he was a seer was a bad move, so opening up his mouth again didn’t seem extremely appealing. Though the intense reaction sated Lance’s need to draw emotion from the boy, even he could admit that obviously it had been a bad idea considering the current situation. He had wanted the boy to experience a loss of control, not an urge to kill. 

The flames spread to the boy’s shoulders.

“What do you know!” he shouted, slamming his hands against the wall on their side of Lance’s head. Lance flinched, drawing his hands up automatically, but the boy grasped them before spinning him around and slamming his chest into the wall while he wrenched up an arm behind his back. Lance whimpered as his shoulder twinged. 

“Okay! Okay! Calm down!” Lance pleaded, wiggling around his fingers as if they’d draw the boy’s attention. “I was joking! _Stars!_ I haven’t even tried being a seer yet!”  
“How do I know you aren’t lying?” the boy snarled, jerking Lance’s arm.

“Holy crow!” he gasped. “I’ve only seen the Watcher a few times and--and, wait! Did you do something bad? Oh stars, you’d only be worried about what I knew if you did something bad and that must be why the Watcher visits and why you always wander around the coven alone cause you don’t want anyone to ask you anything--are you a criminal?--ouch! Okay not asking that again.”

“Will you shut up!” the boy shouted. He pushed Lance further into the wall before releasing him. Lance cautiously turned around, seeing the boy shake off his flames. “You’re clearly too stupid to actually be a seer. Or at least a good one.”

“Hey!” Lance huffed indignantly, grasping his chest in hurt. “Is that anyway to treat a friend?”

The boy shook his head. “We aren’t friends.”

“Clearly after that whole thing,” Lance squawked. He rolled his shoulder back, massaging it with a hand. “Nah, we aren’t friends. But maybe rivals?” 

The boy leveled Lance with tired eyes. “No,” he blankly replied.

“Aw, c’mon! It’s perfect! Water versus fire. Cool kid versus loner boy.” He paused for dramatics, hopeful eyes roving over the boy’s unemotional face. Lance’s insides twinged at the unresponsiveness. Clearly his efforts would have to be redoubled to get another emotional reaction from him… but maybe another day after his shoulder and pride were recovered. “We’d be the best rivals!” 

“No,” he said again.

“Okay, you can say no to being a friend, but not to being a rival! It’s happening.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yup,” he popped. “Totally is. From this day forth, we are rivals. Got it?”

“If I say yes, will you leave?”

“Nope.”

“Then, no.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what do you guys think? will keith burn lance to a crisp by the end of the day?


	3. Playing Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance pursed his lips before tipping his head to the side and smirking. The boy underestimated him. It would only be advantageous to Lance. “Then how about a game?”
> 
> The boy’s brows furrowed, a slight line forming between them. Lance’s lips curled at the idea of catching him off guard. “A game?” the boy drew out, as if he had heard incorrectly.
> 
> “Yeah, rivals need to compete, right?” Lance innocently said, stepping a few paces closer to the boy. “So how about a game?”
> 
> “Games are stupid.”
> 
> “You’re stupid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this took so long! ive been reading it over and over and i finally just decided to post it cause i couldnt read it again.
> 
> if you havent read the other fics in this series, you might be a little confused and i suggest reading them, but if not its okau. ill explain some stuff in the end notes
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Lance started the next day early.

For once he woke before his siblings, slipping out of their shared room and stealthily avoiding his parents getting ready for the day. He roamed the coven’s halls and lounging areas searching for the boy, his rival, the one that raged in flames and set Lance’s heart a flutter. He still didn’t fully understand his fascination with the pyro witch. Perhaps it had been the adrenaline rush when he had charged at him ablaze with coiling flames or the spark behind his eyes when his mask of indifference had dissipated. There was simply something exhilarating about the boy: his silent steps, the pops of fire along his knuckles, the almost violet sheen to his raven hair. Something he possessed inexplicably drew Lance to him. 

And the hydro-elemental had happily allowed himself to burn in his presence.

Even if the other boy had ignored him for the majority of the day yesterday. 

No matter, because today Lance was determined to draw even more intoxicating reactions from him.

After an hour of searching for the hidden boy, Lance heard his sibling’s echoing voices. He ducked into a narrow hallway, barely avoiding them as they passed, chattering amongst themselves. Turning his nose up at their backs, Lance snootily huffed. Their comments from the past few days continued to bother him; judging someone they didn’t even know all because he had reacted to Lance’s uncontrolled water wasn’t right and his mama would agree. He had gone to bed without talking to them and he didn’t feel guilty in the slightest… 

Well, maybe a little bit, but like as small as a pebble compared to the guilt he had carried about splashing the boy and incidentally getting his siblings to hate him in every way. 

Lance crossed his arms and leaned against the cool stone wall, tilting his head back and groaning. His voice echoed back in the empty hallway. But so did another sound.

Lance straightened up, tilting his head, straining to hear the other noise. A soft tapping. He followed it down the narrow hall, turning this way and that until he stood in front of a towering tapestry decorated with gold and purple threads depicting a story Lance didn’t care to understand. He peered more intently at the thick cloth, studying its edges as the sporadic tapping continued. It sounded like footsteps, extremely light as if the person making them was tiptoeing or practically floating. 

Carefully, Lance peeled the tapestry from the wall, his tanned hands pushing the heavy material out of the way. He silently gasped at the streak of light falling across his nimble fingers. Slowly he reached out along the wall until he felt it give way to air. He slid behind the tapestry, shuffling until he stood, looking out into a hidden room completely illuminated by the morning sun shining through the windows that lined the domed roof.

Fire shot into the air. 

Lance glanced down from the ceiling, quickly finding  _ the _ boy surrounded by flames as he stepped in controlled movements around the room. Fire huffed out of his nose with every laboring breath, with every jab and punch that sent his flames whipping. Lance awed at the control, the concentration. The boy’s hands circled around him, drawing the fire to his center, completely engulfing him as if he were a living flame. His arms busted outward and the fire followed, exploding in dancing flames that reached toward the sun, completely encapsulating the room in a flurry of controlled heat.

Lance’s face reddened, his heart rate picking up. 

As suddenly as the fire grew, it dissipated, leaving sparks twinkling in the air. Their shine reflected in Lance’s wide eyes. They looked like stars.

Lance gasped. 

The boy froze. 

The stars blotted out. 

“What are you doing here?” the boy growled, advancing toward Lance.

“I, well… I, um,” he sheepishly stuttered, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. He took a hesitant step back only for the heavy tapestry to stop him. The boy marched right up to him, stopping mere inches away. Lance could feel the heat radiating off of him, his labored breaths huffing out steam. His flushed cheeks strained with a tight frown and his thick brows creased as sharp eyes peered at Lance. 

The tanned witch melted under his violet gaze. 

“What do you want?” the boy demanded in wake of Lance’s silence.

Lance shook his head and took a deep breath, the air stuttering in his throat. He could do this. He could do this. He could talk; he’s good at that. Great, in fact.

“I’ve been looking for you all morning,” he began somewhat frantically, pushing up his curled hair around his temple nervously, “all over the coven: in the lobby, in the lounges, in the kitchen, in the random rooms that don’t seem to have a purpose but for some reason are there; and I’ve been avoiding my siblings ‘cause they are as bad as gossiping harpies and I hate it so much ‘cause it’s ‘bad mouthing this’ and ‘bad mouthing that’ and I needed to get away from them a bit more, so I looked for you and couldn’t find you, I didn’t even know this room existed and its really cool and wow you’re pyro-manipulation is incredible, the contr--”

A palm slapped over Lance’s mouth. His eyes widened, first in shock, then in indignation. He narrowed them at the boy who wore an exasperated expression, one too close to unemotionally available for Lance’s taste. Slowly, he ran a wet, rough tongue over the boy’s hand. He thought his palm was unnaturally textured before remembering the scars. Lance cringed as the boy yelped, yanking his hand to his chest and rubbing it frantically on his clothing.

Lance huffed, crossing his arms.

“You know it’s very rude to interrupt someone. Especially if you slap a hand over their mouth!” he squawked. 

The boy huffed before turning burning eyes on Lance.

“And you don’t think licking me is rude?” 

“It was deserved.”

The boy adopted a defensive stance and Lance hesitantly followed. If he wanted to fight, then Lance would fight, despite his distaste for it. 

The boy stood silent for a moment, studying Lance with pensive eyes. Lance tensed as that glistening violet gaze raked over him, roving over his curled hair to his wrinkled tank to his loose pants to the delicate slippers that outlined his feet. His fists were loosely clenched and his footing was terrible. The boy’s eyes jumped to Lance’s face before lazily rolling. The boy turned his back and walked away. 

The action had Lance’s blood boiling. The utter dismissal had him stomping behind the boy, following him to the center of the room before that raven head whipped around. 

“What are you doing?” he scowled, lip curled.

“Training with you,” Lance answered. He crossed his arms and planted his feet. Though the boy had stolen Lance’s attention since standing over him in that brilliant rage, he had been nothing short of rude and abrasive when he’s not being completely unresponsive. Lance hadn’t been concerned about it--too joyous from removing himself from his siblings and hanging with someone shorter than himself--however, the judgement rolling off the boy’s shoulders set Lance off. Despite his delicate looks, he’s tough and he knew it. Growing up the youngest of five had taught him to be scrappy, to take advantage, to set himself apart. 

He’d prove he’s worth the boy’s attention. 

“No, you aren’t,” the boy said, mirroring Lance’s stance. 

Lance pursed his lips before tipping his head to the side and smirking. The boy underestimated him. It would only be advantageous to Lance. “Then how about a game?”

The boy’s brows furrowed, a slight line forming between them. Lance’s lips curled at the idea of catching him off guard. “A game?” the boy drew out, as if he had heard incorrectly.

“Yeah, rivals need to compete, right?” Lance innocently said, stepping a few paces closer to the boy.  “So how about a game?”

“Games are stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Not interested,” the boy said.

“Then how about we make it interesting,” Lance teased. He let his arms fall to his sides. “If I win, I get to train with you.”

“And if you lose?” the boy asked, determination slowly taking form on his face in hard lines and tight eyes. Lance’s mouth quirked up. With a few simple words, he had him.

“If I lose, then I don’t train with you,” Lance said with a light tone, as if it were the most obvious answer in all seven pockets. He shifted on his feet, crooking his head and fingered the end of his tank with faux nervousness. With his siblings, looking innocent and young paved a path to information and welcomed babying, but with a boy about his age, he needed to elude weakness and naivety, especially to someone who can clearly evaluate situations and their possible outcomes so easily. Lance took another step closer, purposefully stumbling his second step. He quickly righted himself and rubbed the back of his neck. 

The boy licked his lips and shook his head, raven locks flowing with the motion. Lance almost dropped his facade at the sight before reigning himself in and crooking his eyebrows in question. “No, if you lose, then you leave me alone.”

Lance should had anticipated the boy presenting a counteroffer. It wasn’t unreasonable for him to not like Lance’s initial offer. But the finality of his words struck Lance and the wide eyes and open mouth he sported weren’t part of his act. He knew he could win, but he hadn’t considered the consequences if he lost. Well, he hadn’t considered any grand consequences if he lost: with his proposal, his pride would take a beating, no doubt, and he would sit on the sidelines as the boy trained, nothing too major; but with the boy’s proposal, he would lose the privilege of simply seeing him, of being in his presence. 

The thought left his chest hollow. And he didn’t know what to make of that. 

Hesitantly Lance nodded. He knew he’d see the boy again, but if the stakes were raised on one side, then he wanted to up his winnings. “Fine, but that’s a big price. So if I win, I get to train with you and I get your name. Can’t keep calling you Mullet forever.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. Lance didn’t understand his aversion to sharing, especially as something as simple as a name. Yesterday, he had continuously bugged him for it and the boy had stubbornly refused. After the initial inquiry, Lance knew he wouldn’t get an answer, but the boy’s reactions had been priceless. Totally worth the singes on his clothes. 

“Fine,” the boy conceded. “If you win, you can train and I’ll tell you my name, but if you lose, I never see you again. You don’t look for me. You don’t talk to me. I walk into a room and you’re there, you leave.”

“Deal,” Lance said cheerily, a vast contrast to the boy’s serious aura. He smirked and clapped his hands together. “Okay, so we can play Werewolves and Jackalopes?”  The boy’s intensity quickly drained as a blank look took shape on his face. It unsettled Lance, much like how the boy’s unemotive default he often wore pricked at him, but this one was new. A light blush colored the boy’s cheeks, a new shade not from training or the heat surrounding him. He looked… Is he embarrassed? There’s no way. 

“What? Have you never played that?” Lance cockily said, crossing his arms and popping his hip. The boy glanced away. Lance prompted dropped his arms, realization crossing his mind. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound, well, mean. I was just joking. It’s okay if you don’t know how to play. We can pick a game we both know so it’s fair.” Because if his mama ever found out that he had cheated, he would be removing barnacles from the village boats for the rest of his life. “What about Dueling Dragons? Or Harpy’s Nests? Swim Around The Kraken?”

At every name Lance ran through, the boy’s blush reddened. Lance would think it was cute if his mind wasn’t already preoccupied with how to fix the obvious dilemma that was finding a game the boy already knew. This had to be a fair competition. So they both had to have played the game before. Lance perked up. Or maybe they didn’t have to.

“Oh! What if we choose a game that neither of us has played?” Lance offered. The boy scrunched his red nose.

“But then how would we know how to play?” he asked. 

“Easy! There are games I know about but I’ve never played before. I can explain the rules to you, then we can get this bet going,” Lance said.

“But--”

“Shhh!” Lance waved a silencing hand in front of the boy’s face, causing him to go cross-eyed. The image sent a zing through Lance’s spine, but he suppressed the fond smile that threatened to curve across his face. He was getting attached to the boy much too quickly. 

Lance tapped down his smile with two fingers on his lips while he hummed, pretending to think. He only really knew the rules to one game that he hadn’t played yet. His siblings hadn’t let him join in. Apparently he was too young to actually play, but not too young for Rachel to tell him how. 

“Okay, I got it!” Lance exclaimed. “A game called Maggot Eaters.”

The boy’s eyes widened minutely, but enough for Lance to notice. The name packed a punch: kinda disturbing, kinda intriguing. It had Lance pulling all his best moves on Rachel for even just a sliver of information about the game. Luckily, a sliver turned into a whole dish.

“Find the necromancer, kill it, then bathe in the glory of being a hero,” Lance said dramatically, acting out each stage. “We could play twice, switching roles and whoever takes more time to accomplish the goal loses,” he explained, too excited to notice how the blush had rushed from the boy’s cheeks and his scarred fingers twitched and shook. When he took a step back, Lance rounded on him.

“Oh, no need to be nervous. I mean unless you’re scared I’m going to win,” he taunted. " You know, my uncle participated in the Purge. He tells the stories to my siblings and I.” He took a cocky step toward the boy as he scrambled a step back. Lance didn’t notice, too enthralled in remembering his uncle’s tales, the glory of them. “The way he hunted the necromancers down, rounded them up, and watched them burn! He was a hero!” he exclaimed, punching out his arms. The boy flinched back. “He helped get rid of the evil witches in the pocket. Good thing too. They were nasty! Cutting up corpses, eating flesh filled with maggots, spreading deadly diseases--ewww.” Lance stuck out his tongue as if he had eaten something disgusting. “Thank the stars they’re gone. Well, most of them. If I ever see one, they better watch out! Won’t know what hit them.”

Lance stomped his foot for emphasis. His eyes peered over at the boy, expecting an awed look brightening his face, but what he anticipated and what he received were drastically different. The boy looked pale and clammy, his skin waxy and his eyes frightened. It was a new reaction, but not one Lance ever wanted to see on the boy. Immediately he deflated. 

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Lance apologized softly. “I forget that some people can’t handle… don’t like stories like that. Why don’t we get you some water and then we--”

Lance outstretched a hand, but the boy cowered away. Both froze, Lance in shock and the boy in something Lance couldn’t even describe. The pyro witch was shaking.

“I… uh,” Lance stumbled, unsure for once in his life of what to say. Talking about the Purge brought on a similar reaction: most people rejoiced in the near extinction of necromancers, very few disagreed with the week long hunting, but never had Lance seen someone look so frightened of something that neither of the boys can remember, of something that happened before their first birthdays. 

The boy’s eyes wouldn’t leave Lance’s hand. He was watching his fingers for a movement, a twitch, anything to suggest Lance would use his magick. It was a tactic used when dueling a hydro witch: study their fingers and anticipate their next move. Unlike pyro manipulation, hyro manipulation relied heavily on intricate hand motions, something the boy seemed familiar with. 

Lance shook his head in confusion and slowly lowered his hand to his side. The boy took a cautious step back, falling into a defensive position, though it lacked the strength he had thrown into his fire during his earlier practice. His balance was off center as he leaned away from Lance. His legs shook beneath him, the balls of his feet on edge. 

The boy looked ready to bolt. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Lance said. Though he didn’t understand what he said to draw such a reaction from him, he could at least try to recover their amicable conversation. “We can choose a different game! How about--”

“No,” the boy said. His voice sputtered like a dying flame. It was so unlike his raging screams and despondent tone;  a new voice that Lance catalogued, though not without concern.

“What do you mean ‘no?’” Lance lightly spat. He got that whatever he said upset the boy, but that didn’t mean their fun had to end. He had a bet to win after all. 

“No,” the boy said again, a growl slipping into his raspy voice. Though once the aggression slipped from his mouth, he tensed, drawing back into himself once again. Lance hated it. 

“You can’t back out,” Lance argued. “We were just about to play.”

“I’m not playing,” the boy said, taking a cautious step to the side toward the covered doorway, but while keeping his distance from Lance.

“You have to play! We already made bets.” With crossed arms Lance stepped in front of the boy, putting himself between him and the exit. The boy thickly swallowed.

“No,” the boy said once again. His voice wavering but determined. “I’m not playing.”

“We are playing!” Lance shouted. The boy flinched back, but Lance didn’t care. He had been ignored by him all of yesterday and he wasn’t about to let him leave now that they finally started talking more. If they play a game, then Lance would win and he’d get to train with the boy--it’s a prize he doesn’t intend on giving up simply because the boy got scared of a little Purge story. “We’ll pick another game.”

“I said, ‘no.’ Now move. I’m leaving,” the boy demanded. His shaking fists with pops of sparks clenched at his sides, but as Lance took a step forward, they drew up around his chest: a fighter’s stance. But Lance wasn’t deterred. One more step and the boy’s arms were aflame, the fire quickly licking up his elbows. They were frantic. Lance paused.

“I don’t understand,” Lance lamented, rubbing his eyes. He looked at the boy, who continued to quiver, his body unintentionally shaking. If Lance listened close enough in the otherwise silent room, he could barely make out the clinking of chattering teeth. It shook his defensive stance, which held better than before but not as well as Lance knew it could be; a few oversights on his feet and his hand positions. His hair reflected the flames, as did his pale skin, pallored from fear and waxy from sweat, though not from the heat. 

And his eyes.

His eyes were different. They held something distant, something memorable, as if he was looking at Lance but not seeing him. The violet hue that had enticed Lance had clouded over in a muddy purple. Though still beautiful, the color saddened Lance. After all, it was his big mouth that scared the boy. That thought sent regret though Lance, piercing his gut and flaying him open. The boy was remembering something, probably a long hidden memory that Lance had dug up with his stupid story, and now their fun had been spoiled, but more than that, the boy’s emotional state was crumbling. And it was Lance’s fault. 

With heavy regret, Lance stepped to the side. It took a moment, but the boy perked up, confused. Lance gestured toward the door and hesitantly, the boy crept toward it, never turning his back on Lance. The reasoning behind that action Lance refused to think upon. It would hurt too much. 

When the boy reached the tapestry, he cast a final glance at the other witch. 

The violet had returned.

A sputtering cough escaped his lips.

Then the boy was gone.

Lance never found him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so for those who haven't read the other works in the series pls read below. if you are planning on reading the rest tho, pls dont read any further than this to avoid spoilers
> 
> Keith is a necromancer, which is why he reacted the way he did. he's had some bad experiences from people finding out. like rlly bad (reminder to those who have read the other fics, this is before Shiro finding out). when faced with his necromancy, keith--instead of getting aggressive and angry like he usually would for any other situation--becomes frightened. many would kill a necromancer on sight so lance describing his uncle's experiences and then agreeing with the necromantic stereotypes and how all necromancers should be dead really scare keith and he wants to get away from that situation
> 
> hope that explains some things

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave any feedback! anything is appreciated


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